Thousand Faces
by Cheimon
Summary: "I can walk alone all of my life, but who wants to? I am as lonely as the moon, though the stars hang around me."


"Thousand Faces"

I can walk alone all of my life, but who wants to? My hunters follow behind me, but they cannot know everything about me. No one can. They cannot walk with me. I am as lonely as the moon, though the stars hang around me. I am the moon: Artemis, the Lady of the Hunt. My brother is Apollo, Sun Lord. We are as close as light and shadow, and just as different. When he weeps, he weeps loudly, surrounded by muses and nymphs. No one has ever seen me cry. I am a darker goddess, the vengeful one. A vindictive protector of women and the wild places and creatures: _Artemis Agrotera, Potnia Theron_.* I am known as the slaughterer of Niobe's children, the killer of Chione and the changer of Callisto to a bear.

I am seldom gentle. I do not weep for beauty. A good life, a good death, how is that not useful? Beauty has not got anything to do with it. I roam the mountains with my hunters. We camp by the streams, pure and cold, that run from the top of Olympus. I have no city dedicated to me; the mountains are my domain, shared with Pan, satyr god of the wild. We mostly avoid one another: he is too merry, and I, too serious. I can leap like the stags I hunt and crush skulls in the manner of a bear. I light amongst the treetops like a bird and hold my breath underwater, swimming like a fish. All the wild places are my home, and the wild animals familiar neighbors. I have been told I am cruel. I suppose it is in my nature to be cruel, to protect by claw and jaw and silver bow and arrow. But even a wolf has kin; even a wolf protects her young, her pack.

My brother and I are twins. I was first born; for a few moments I was the only one of us in the world. We grew quickly, as gods do. I learnt shooting with my bow and arrow, roaming the wild. My brother stayed closer to civilization; he loves refinement and the arts. He can be quirky, moody, with a hot temper and a sly sense of humor. I differ from him: my anger burns cold, like ice. I am as serious as my domain. A mistake around me could cause Thanatos, son of the Night, to come and collect a soul. I understand Death better than my brother does: I walk with him. To my brother, Death is a subject of mortal fascination, the subject of riveting poetry. To me, Death is a finality, a useful end at its best. At its worst, it is a cause for sadness and woe.

I was never considered humorous, never beautiful, until Orion. The hunter, they call him, favored by Artemis. And killed, because how else could our tale end? Death ends all things. Thanatos follows me, waiting for me to loose a soul from a body: animal or human.

My brother, I later learned, was the one who killed Orion. He though he was protecting me: as if I needed protection. No, he was trying to protect us, though he wouldn't admit it. A pack is only as strong as its leader. As strong as me. He thought Orion would make me weak. He thought it would make us weak, make me toss him aside. As if I could ever forget my brother. Light is necessary for any shadow. We are like two sides of a coin, how could I ever separate from him? But with the death of Orion, we were torn. I felt an icy hatred towards my brother, towards Hermes, who had helped him.

We are gods; we cannot die. But we can be wounded, and I wanted them hurt. Not even them, just me. Just me. Me for reaching out of shadow, trying to grasp for golden love. I don't love, I can't. I am Artemis, I can protect fiercely, but gentle love is not something I can do. I couldn't, until Orion, who was almost as wild as I. He could be wild and strong and gentle and sweet and sardonic and sincere and ugly and beautiful: the whole range of humanity. A thousand faces, a thousand subtle changes that I learned to recognize. And I found that I could change, too. But after he was gone, I was frozen in my icy anger.

I lay down in the snow high in the mountains, so it buried me, and the snowflakes burnt my skin with cold before numbing my body. I released my hunters, told them to find someone else, anyone else, to run with them through the forest. I could not care for them - for anyone. Ever. I was certain. My brother came, digging in the snow, trying to melt me out. I was bone, bone and skin, with a hollow face and dark dead eyes. I did not thaw. Not even when Apollo told me that my Orion was in the sky, to be forever with me, surrounded by his favorite hunting dogs. I remembered his dogs, they were tough scrappy beasts who followed their master everywhere. That sent another stab of pain through me, like an icy dagger.

I ordered everyone to leave me alone. No one saw me cry. It would not make sense. None of my hunters have the company of men. They do without. After I had thawed, I gathered them again, and we ran on a hunt, through the mountains, day after day, untiring. I run in front, away from the others, leading the hunt. Leading alone, in a comfortable, bar-less cage, for although I am free to roam where I please, I am not free to do what I please. It was only Orion who presumed, vainly, to stand tall and look me in the eyes; all others look away in my presence. No one is my equal, and so I am alone and trapped in the position of leader. I suppose it is better than most things.

At night, alone, I look for my Orion in the stars. He smiles, like he knows me. No one can know me: he came closer than most. He was better than most. He was mine, and I did not protect him. It is something I will regret, for the next thousand years.

_*Artemis of the Wild Lands, Mistress of Animals - Homer's description of her._

**Note: Inspired by Regina Spektor's song, "Man of a Thousand Faces."**


End file.
